


(Can't) Let Go

by asmyami



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Ghosts, Halloween Skins, M/M, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 15:16:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8629174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asmyami/pseuds/asmyami
Summary: It was always a foregone conclusion: brother against brother, light versus dark. It was going to be Reaper against Soldier: 76, Reyes against Morrison. There was no arguing this, there was no doubt-- it was meant to be. Destined. Perhaps this was why the sight of Jack Morrison's body came as such a shock, even to someone who had been hellbent on killing him for five years. Gabriel has a postmortem conversation with Jack as he tries to come to terms with his rival's unexpected death.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Haha I made something with reference to the Halloween skins isn't that sWELL. I'm late. So late.

It was always a foregone conclusion: brother against brother, light versus dark. It was going to be Reaper against Soldier: 76, Reyes against Morrison. There was no arguing this, there was no doubt-- it was meant to be. Destined. Perhaps this was why the sight of Jack Morrison's body came as such a shock, even to someone who had been hellbent on killing him for five years.

 

The image filled his mind. The intermittent rumble of crumbling buildings and the continuous roar of the burning walls around him were drowned out by the steady drip, drip of blood seeping out from under Jack’s mask, soaking the broken ground beneath him. What Reaper could see of his chest was damningly still. What he couldn’t see of it was crushed beneath unforgiving concrete and twisted rebar. A hand rested on it, as though Jack had tried in vain to push himself out from underneath the fallen wall, and died in the attempt. 

 

The background haze of shouting and gunfire broke through Reaper’s shell-shocked state, and he turned to see the airship, bold Overwatch symbol emblazoned upon the side, take flight. Through the open cargo door, he could see a few of his former teammates. Tracer. Mercy. McCree. Even at this distance, he knew they were looking at him-- no, at Jack. Their pained faces flashed for a moment before the aircraft retreated, taking their screams with it.

 

A whooping victory call arose from around him as the Talon grunts celebrated their victory. Reaper did not join them. Instead his gaze moved towards Jack once more. Suddenly, he resented Talon’s presence there. This moment… this moment should belong to him only. 

 

The operatives around him dispersed and swept through the rubble like roaches, taking inventory of everything they could find of use. A few made their way over to him. 

 

“Hell yeah! I knew we got one of them! Shit-- it’s that guy, the vigilante.” One of them moved closer, their victory high clouding their common sense. Another behind him, someone who knew Reaper a little better, called out for the man to stop. His scraping steps brought him next to Jack’s body, and one filthy, black boot came up to rest on Jack’s mask, on his face, and push it to the side. Reaper didn’t remember pulling out his shotgun, he didn’t remember leveling at the back of the grunt’s head. He came back to himself just in time to not squeeze the trigger, but only just. “Sh-shit! What’s your--” The idiot’s partner saved his life by stepping forward and yanking him back.

 

“We’re sorry, sir! We won’t trouble you, sir! Get moving, Decker,” the other man hissed quietly, before dragging them both away. Reaper followed them with his gaze, and saw Widowmaker at their destination, watching him while the rest of the Talon’s grunts milled around him. He waited, but she made no attempt to communicate, only observe. After a moment, her eyes flicking impassively to the body at his feet, she turned and left with the first personnel transport out. The others would soon follow, but the message seemed to have spread: Reaper was not to be disturbed. He would find his own way back. 

 

It was strange, watching Jack’s cooling body in the bright, late afternoon sun. The ash and smoke filtered through his mask, leaving the overwhelming smell and taste of it, but it did little to blot out the sunshine that seemed thematically inappropriate to the moment. 

 

Eventually, the last of Talon’s crew left, having picked the site clean of evidence and anything of value like so many vultures. Now it was just him and Jack, and he wasn’t sure it was better. The shotgun in his hand dissolved. He took a step forward and knelt by Jack. His head was tilted back at what would probably have been an uncomfortable angle had he been able to feel it. The debris beneath him kept his body somewhat elevated, while the wall above him kept him pinned. 

 

Reaper reached out, his hand hovering over Jack’s mask. He hesitated. Why would he hesitate? This is what he wanted, wasn’t it?

 

‘Not like this.’ 

 

Reaper pulled back his hand, looking at the broken wall covering Jack. He’d always imagined he’d be the one to kill the other man. He’d always imagined he’d be killed in the process. One last dance, pitted against one another with no interference. Yet it seemed Jack’s habit of constantly fucking up his plans had struck again. Reaper hadn’t even been near him, but he saw it all. It was the concussion grenade, one of Tracer’s. Evading it had forced Jack into a corner. The bright yellow glow of a biotic field illuminated the man for just a moment before the Talon rockets had slammed into the wall behind him. He’d run, rockets to his back, concussive mine to the side, and a concrete slab two stories high bearing down on him. 

 

Reaper had known he’d made it. Of course he’d made it, no falling wall was going to take out Jack Morrison. 

 

Except he hadn’t. A wall had killed Jack Morrison. A falling wall. It lay in pieces above the former strike commander, and suddenly Reaper couldn’t bear the sight of it. He started with the small pieces first, those loose enough to grip and pull. He dug his metal claws into the debris, prying away at the small cracks until it gave. Soon he was using both hands, tearing away what he could. It was a mess, and each piece of broken concrete kicked up a cloud of white, powdery dust. He didn’t care. He needed to do this. 

 

It was slow work. He hit snags of twisted rebar, or parts where the concrete refused to budge. Reaper would pick up something, and begin hammering away at the offending pieces, throwing all of his super soldier strength into the deed. Jack Morrison’s body was revealed by inches, the fading light casting into sharp relief the unnatural shapes of his broken and crushed body. Reaper kept working.

 

An hour passed, then two. Working by moonlight was a simple enough task for enhanced sight, and even if it hadn’t been, Reaper didn’t think he could stop. He did pause, however. The sounds of night insects had stopped. Even the sound of the wind halted. The feeling that someone was watching him made the back of his neck prickle, and he stood and turned, shotguns in hand. 

 

Nothing. There was nobody there. Reaper tensed, unease trickling through him. He knew someone was behind him. Or had been. Warily, he watched a moment more, waiting for any sign of movement, before turning back towards his work. He froze, breath caught in his lungs.

 

There, kneeling beside Jack was.. Jack. The new Jack didn’t acknowledge him right away. He simply stared at himself, his double on the ground. After a moment, the new Jack looked up, and Reaper couldn’t comprehend how parts of him seemed not to move, until he realized what he was seeing was the ruins of the warehouse behind Jack, through Jack. A soft glow surrounded the man’s form, and now that Reaper took a closer look, he realized the man seemed washed out, somehow. Not pale, but everything on him was entirely lacking color. Gone was the leather jacket and under armor, replaced by a simple white t-shirt and loose pants. His face and feet were bare, all equally translucent. The ghost of Jack Morrison met his gaze.

 

“Hi.” Reaper flinched. His voice seemed to emanate around him, the sound slow to start and slow to fade. If he hadn’t been looking right at Jack, he wouldn’t have known where it had come from. They stared at each other in silence, shock stilling Reaper’s words-- he wondered if he’d finally gone over that edge he’d been standing on for several long, hard years. Jack sighed, and it sounded like a gust of wind rushing past his ears from every direction. “Yeah. Surprised me too.” The ghost reached down, pressing his hand against the mask. “Guess it was finally my time to punch out. It was a long time coming.” The sight of his dead enemy caressing his own face proved too much for Reaper. He quickly turned away, set on ignoring the presence-- figment or not, it would be better if he left. He picked up a heavy piece of rebar and began picking away at the broken concrete. 

 

“... What are you doing?” 

 

He didn’t answer. 

 

“You may as well leave it. Nobody’s in there, Reyes.” The rebar slipped out of his hands and clattered sharply to the ground, the cacophonous sound echoing through the still-smoking ruins around him. There was a harsh rasping sound in his ears, and Reaper couldn’t place it until he realized his chest was heaving, with surprise, with exertion, with a desire for this remnant to dissipate. Sensing that he might have stumbled upon something forbidden, the ghost of Jack sighed. “Sorry.” It was disorienting to hear Jack calmly apologize. They’d been at each other’s throats for so long that hearing words at anything less than a shout amidst the sounds of gunfire and shattering glass was jarring, let alone an apology. Reaper was so taken aback he grunted in reply, forgetting his internal vow to ignore the specter. Numb hands picked up the rebar again, and set back to work. Each impact sent painful vibrations up his hands and arms, but he ignored them in favor of prying back another shard of the wall. He’d uncovered Jack’s hips finally, and his thighs. Every inch of Jack’s lower body was a mess of red and gore. Another sigh echoed through the air.

 

“God what a mess. Glad I didn’t feel that.” A hand gestured vaguely to his legs, and Reaper paused. He didn’t know how to handle the news that Jack’s passing had been painless. Cautiously, he tilted his head to the side, bringing the ghost into view. Jack was looking down at this body calmly, surveying the damage. How could he be so calm? 

 

“Does it feel good?” Reaper freezes. After a few beats of silence, Jack glanced at him, irritation creasing the space between his brows. “I’m dead, not psychic, Reyes. I can’t see your face past your mask.” A seed of impudence grew within him, and Reaper leaned back to cross his arms, his mask betraying none of his inner turmoil. Jack didn’t rise to the challenge, however, and Reaper found himself thrown again, internally fighting for some balance, something familiar. Instead, the ghost dropped his head and continued gazing at his own face. “It must, right? I finally got what was coming to me. You got to watch it happen.” Reaper knelt down to work out a particularly stubborn piece from the wall. It came out with a sharp crack, and several other pieces of concrete fell with it. “Still, doesn’t explain what you’re doing. I know you didn’t do it for the others, you know. The reports weren’t hard to find-- you made it public enough. All of our old coworkers. So many bodies left where they dropped-- well, where you dropped them.” The accusation Reaper had come to expect with this particular topic was strangely absent, as if Jack had transcended beyond caring. Perhaps he had. “I wonder how many of them are…” Reaper felt his hands still while Jack considered, his own mind hanging on every word. “Wherever I’m going, I guess. Don’t know what’s waiting but I don’t think I’ll be alone.” Another wrench, and Jack’s knees were free. “I wish you would say something, Reyes.” 

 

What was there to say? He had no explanation. He had no final taunts, no desire to gloat over his victory, hollow as it was. And it was, it left him feeling empty, nothing like how he’d imagined. 

 

“Reyes, please.” 

 

Reaper wedged the rebar under the slab crushing Jack’s feet and pushed against it with all his strength. There was an answering groan, and the slab began to shift.

 

“Reyes.” 

 

Breath heaving, Reaper pushed up the slab until began to slide to the side. He positioned himself carefully, letting the slab’s own momentum direct it away from Jack’s body, grunting with exertion.

 

“Gabriel.” 

 

Gabriel yelled, giving the bar one last push away, sending the concrete crashing down and rolling back from the body. He stood there, body shaking, not because of the strain, but because of the torrent of emotions coursing through him. He barely registered the feeling of his torn muscles being repaired. 

 

“What,” he snarled, voice coming out an even harsher rasp than usual. When no answer came, he turned, and flinched back a step. Jack was right in front of him, his solemn eyes boring through the unyielding metal of Gabriel’s mask to the shocked and angry face below. 

 

“Gabriel, I’m sorry.” 

 

Gabriel wrenched his gaze away. He didn’t want to hear it. He stalked past the ghost, giving him a wide berth and stopped at Jack’s body. Now what? In the interest of looking like he had a plan, he moved to the head, leaned over and gripped Jack’s jacket lapels. The dead man’s head rolled loosely, and Gabriel felt nausea settle in his gut for the first time. Swallowing hard, he dragged Jack’s body away from the rubble towards a smoother plane. He determinedly did not look at the wet, red streak that followed, or the viscera left along the way. 

 

“I did a lot of things I regret. Maybe I was too prideful to say so before, but… pride doesn’t hold a lot of place once you die. The great equalizer. You used to say that, didn’t you?” Gabriel wouldn’t meet his gaze, but his memory supplied him with all the times he’d ever used that statement. It’s use signalled darker and darker thoughts through the later years, often in reference to the UN members, or Overwatch, or, hell, even Blackwatch. “Nothing seems to matter as much. All of my worries, all of my reasons… god they seem so petty now. Everything I ever did,” he murmured, moving towards his body. Gabriel could hear no footsteps, though Jack mimicked walking, perhaps out of habit. Jack knelt once more by his body. “Everything I ever dreamt, everything I ever failed, all ends here. Dead, cold, and forgotten in the aftermath of battle.” Jack paused then, and Gabriel strained to hear the sound of breathing, but of course there was none. The ghost laughed. “I guess that’s fitting though, isn’t it. I’d always imagined death on the battlefield. Hell, I even imagined you in it, and here you are… and here I am… Nothing ever goes according to my plans does it?”

 

“You always had shitty plans.” 

 

The quip was out before he had time to stifle it, and it surprised them both. Jack recovered first, frowning.

 

“And you never much liked following them.”

 

In for a penny, in for a pound.

 

“I’m not one of yours. Haven’t been for a long time, Jack,” he spat, stoking an old irritation, eager to fall back into something familiar. He trained his eyes on Jack’s face, waiting for the same song and dance to start up once again, angry as cats, spitting and hissing-- but no, that damnable calm seemed to extinguish all that fire, that temper that had grown so well-known in the era of ‘Soldier: 76’. 

 

“No, don’t suppose you were. You were always good at your job, until you thought I took it from you. Not even command of Blackwatch helped. I’d hoped it might--”

 

“What makes you think that they were anything alike? I turned that consolation position into something usable, something effective, and you still dragged us through the mud.”

 

“You know I had no control over that Gabriel. There was nothing I could say--”

 

“You didn’t say anything! Didn’t even try.” 

 

“Yeah, maybe I should’ve said something. Said something about executions being made in the dark, about torture and extortion. About kidnapping. But I didn’t. I covered for you because I wanted to trust you. I held my own hands over the flames until they were out of my control. Then they came after us both. I think… I think if we hadn’t ‘died’ in that explosion back then, they would've had us killed anyway. Your playbook. Clean, quiet, off the record.”

 

Gabriel snarled at that. Jack only shrugged.

 

“We were never meant for world-wide policing, Gabriel. We were created to stop the Omnic crisis. And we did. But we got ahead of ourselves. Too big to let go. We should have.”

 

Gabriel’s anger simmered, cooled by a thread of confusion.

 

“You fought hardest for Overwatch. I saw you parade yourself in front of people who wanted to see you go down and argue for it.” 

 

Jack’s wry smile grated at him for some reason. It ate away at his calm, made him want to open fire on that tired old face-- and it occurred to him that he probably could. The man was already dead. He restrained himself, barely.

 

“Like I said, there’s no room for pride in death. I guess everything is just… clearer. I still feel things, but I can look past it.” 

 

Jack fixed his gaze on Gabriel, a touch of regret in his eyes. 

 

“I see a lot of missed opportunities. Not just with Overwatch.” 

 

Gabriel tensed, subtly drawing away from the incorporeal figure. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready for the words that were coming next, for any admissions made over the cold, dead body between them, now slightly steaming in the cool night air. 

 

“Things I was too scared to say, too scared to admit. Opportunities to pursue what I really wanted in my life. Gabriel, I should’ve told you, years ago, I--”

 

“Stop!” 

 

Jack looked shocked, and Gabriel thought maybe he did too. He hadn’t meant to scream it, but the word had forced his way out regardless. Jack’s brows furrowed.

 

“Gabriel, before I go, I wanted to tell you--”

 

“I don’t want to hear it.” Not now. Not yet. The words stuck in his throat like tar. 

 

Jack’s face looked tired, but he nodded. 

 

“Yeah. I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. Not anymore.” Gabriel dropped his gaze, glaring at the body between them. A spark of anger lit inside him once more. Of course Jack would wait until death for this conversation. Until Gabriel had no means of… of what? Reciprocating? Holding him? Punching him? It was a road he hadn’t considered in years, that he had considered closed for good, and he wasn’t prepared to have it suddenly open once again.

 

Jack stayed silent for a moment, before looking up at Gabriel, a plea in his eyes.

 

“Can you take off my mask?”

 

The question stunned him, and every part of him recoiled at the suggestion. It occurred to him that the last thing he wanted to do was see Jack’s corpse's’ face. Despite this, his body moved on its own, hand shaking as he reached for the mask. The tremors were painfully visible, especially at this distance, but Jack said nothing. Swallowing, Gabriel pressed the catch on the mask and drew it away. 

 

Blood spilled out from behind it. Some of it had begun to coagulate and fell in chunks, while more spilled from behind Jack’s blue lips, having been held back by the pressure behind the mask. Jack’s face held old scars, crisscrossing across his face. His blue eyes stared lifelessly up at the night sky. Gabriel took in every detail, and fought the nausea welling up in him, reminding himself this is the outcome he wanted, even if it didn’t happen the way he thought. It didn’t help.

 

Slowly, perhaps in reverence, perhaps in trepidation, Gabriel reached up and slid his palm down the soldier’s face, closing his eyes. He couldn’t bear that empty gaze. 

 

“Thank you, Gabriel.” 

 

There was a note of finality in his tone. Gabriel turned to him in confusion, only to see Jack was now standing several feet away, moonlight casting through his figure, making him seem more solid than he was.

 

Gabriel felt the floor dropping out from beneath him. Was this it?

 

“I hope you’ll be willing to talk with me, next time we meet. I got a lot I want to say still.” Pain flitted across his face. 

 

‘Wait.’

 

“I can’t convince you not to hunt the others. I can’t stop you. I just want you to know… the world will keep spinning without us, and all you’ll carry with you to death is your regret. Make sure you can handle what you’ll be carrying… and what you’ll leave behind. I just wanted to say that.” Jack turned suddenly, as if he’d heard something, and for one awful second he seemed to dim, and Gabriel jerked towards him.

 

‘Wait, goddammit why won’t you ever wait?’

 

There was no time, there was never enough time.

 

Jack turned back, a small smile on his face, looking serene. Gabriel wanted to scream.

 

“They’re waiting for me. I’ll be seeing you around, Gabriel--”

Whatever else he was going to say, Gabriel didn’t hear. He whirled on Jack’s body, staring at it. The biotic fields. Most were broken beyond recognition, but Gabriel pawed at the dead man’s jacket, finding one that was serviceable.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

There was no time. Gabriel activated the field. It blinked and fizzled, and he smacked and shook it until the light stabilized, bathing them in golden light. He felt his aches and pains fade. Jack’s body remained the same, broken and cold. 

“Gabriel, please. I’m trying to say good-bye here…” His voice was resigned, maybe even a bit exasperated. Gabriel snarled and shook his head. No he needed something more, something that would work on dead flesh.

 

The idea hit him suddenly, and he had scarcely a second to consider whether or not it was a good idea before he wrenched off his mask, and shrugged off his coat and gauntlets. In his hand, a knife materialized, and he held it against his forearm. 

 

“Gabriel! What are you--”

 

He cut, deep, all the way down. Black blood spilled out of the wound, and dripped into Jack’s still open mouth. Already Gabriel could feel the nanites trying to heal him, so he dug the knife in again, and again, stopping only when the black spots began to dot his vision, giving the nanobots in his body time to replenish and heal him.

 

“Gabriel!” Jack’s glowing form was in the corner of his eye, but he ignored it. The blood wasn’t spreading. Gabriel gripped Jack’s head between his hands and positioned his own face above it. “Gabriel please! Stop! You can’t do this!”

 

He opened his mouth and breathed out thick, black smoke. He willed it into Jack’s mouth, pushing the blood into his body, and leaving some smoke behind as well. He had to try everything.

 

An ethereal hand swiped across his vision, and he chanced a glance backwards. Jack had tried to grab him, and was now staring at his hands in disbelief and panic. He looked up, and there was fear in his eyes. Gabriel felt a sick, empty sense of accomplishment at finally having evoked some sort of emotion other than dumb acceptance. 

 

“Please, please just let me go, Gabe, I’m begging you. Let me die, let me-- hrrk!” The choked off scream startled Gabriel, but not nearly as much as the spasm from the body he held that accompanied it. There was another, and another, and each time the body moved, Jack screamed behind him. “Stop! Gabriel stop! Please!” Another spasm, another scream, as if the nanites in Jack’s body were trying to shock the body back to life, an internal defibrillator delivering jolts of energy right to his core. There was movement in the abdomen, then thighs, then legs. The shredded and sunken flesh seemed to right itself, firming as the bone beneath it grew together. The chest began to fill again, losing its concave configuration. “Gabri--” The body spasmed once more, and suddenly Gabriel couldn’t sense Jack behind him any more. A wet gurgle drifted from the body below, and he quickly tipped Jack’s head to the side as the other man began to empty his lungs, red froth bubbling past his lips. As soon as his lungs were clear, the screaming began.

 

They were agonized and drawn out, scarcely time to catch his breath before another scream began. Gabriel watched in mild horror at the familiar way the bones clicked and snapped back together, how hands and fingers popped back into alignment, and wondered if anyone who ever saw him reform felt as he did now. As soon as the muscles reattached to bone, Jack’s hands were out and gripping Gabriel’s wrists with startling strength. It wasn’t to cause pain, but to try and combat it. Jack’s voice had gone hoarse, then clear, then hoarse once more as the nanobots healed the damage to his throat as soon as it happened, and still the screams persisted. Jack began to writhe as he gained more mobility, his body wracked with tremors as it healed, and Gabriel had to press a hand firmly on his chest to keep him still. He did not dwell on the relief he felt when it held below his palm, or for the rapid thrumming of Jack’s heartbeat against his skin.

 

As Jack’s spasms and screams stopped, he rolled towards Gabriel, taking hold of the hand on his chest and gripping it tight. He was crying, gasping between sobs and still unable to form a single word. Gabriel let him checking on the progress of the healing down the body. Jack’s skin looked grey everywhere it poked through the bloodstained cloth. His eyes were darkened and bruised. He still looked dead, and a single kernel of doubt settled into Gabriel’s chest, but there was no going back now. When the other man opened his eyes, they were blood red, and betrayed. 

 

“What... have you done to me?” 

 

Jack was too exhausted to resist when Gabriel gathered him into his arms, but even if he’d had the energy, he was in shock. His arms fell limp against his chest, head hanging free with no strength to keep it held up, and Gabriel was glad. He couldn’t see the clean track marks that Jack’s tears had made down his cheeks. He couldn’t see the confusion, and the betrayal. 

 

“Why?”

 

He didn’t answer. His coat and mask rematerialized on his body as he began to walk away. Jack’s form went limp, and he couldn’t help but stop and examine the other man, but he’d only fallen asleep, or lost consciousness. Gabriel shifted his grip and held him closer. He didn’t know what he’d do next, or what this would mean for them both. Only one thing was certain.

 

He wasn’t ready to let go.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> This fic now has FANART!!  
> [This piece](http://velvvetcat09.tumblr.com/post/153692957915/please-please-just-let-me-go-gabe-im-begging) made by the incredibly talented [velvetcat09](https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetcat09/pseuds/velvetcat09). Thank you so much!


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